


Let your body overflow

by winged_mammal



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:45:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3371720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winged_mammal/pseuds/winged_mammal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaw's cover identity has her working as a mechanic. Who is Root to resist dropping by to watch her work?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let your body overflow

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Shaw's season 4 cover identity is a grease monkey, spurred by a gifset on tumblr and a comment by shadowkira and some anons. Her cover never got blown, either. Pure porn with no angst and no point - lighthearted fluff, basically. Title is from the Black Lab song "Ecstasy."
> 
> In case you're curious, these are the various rides featured in this fic:  
> [Lamborghini Gallardo](http://cdn.lamborghini.com/content/models/gallardo_lp570-4_squadra_corse/ga_lp570-4_sc_ov1.jpg)  
> [Corvette Stingray](http://s.hswstatic.com/gif/1963-1967-chevrolet-corvette-sting-ray-2.jpg.jpg)  
> [Thunderbird](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/57/1959_Ford_Thunderbird_Convertible.jpg)  
> [Shilo (NSFW)](http://www.babeland.com/Shilo-Dildo/d/4427)

“Lock up when your favorite client’s done riding your ass, Gray.”

The door slams shut behind Shaw’s manager, and Root’s lips curl at his words. Over the past several months since Samaritan’s come online, she’s garnered quite the reputation at the bustling Manhattan garage - a demanding client with more money than she knows how to handle and an annoying tendency to drive up five minutes before end of business insisting her car be fixed that day. Always by the same mechanic, though, and she knows the others dread the day that Sameen isn’t there to handle her. So she supposes it’s lucky for them that she has no intention of letting that happen.

Shaw huffs at Root’s smile and stalks out the side door to the lot, Root immediately following as she weaves through the vehicles in various states of disrepair. “So whose car did you steal this time?”

“Oh, the usual. Some investment banker. He won’t even miss it.” As they round the corner between a rusted out Camaro and an obnoxiously orange Mustang fastback, Shaw comes to a stop when she sees what she instinctively knows to be Root’s most recent acquisition.

“A Lamborghini fucking Gallardo,” Shaw says, and Root fights back her smile at the note of disbelief she can detect in her voice. She knew Shaw would appreciate this one. “This thing is wasted on the streets of this city.”

“I’m sure it won’t feel so neglected with you behind the wheel, Shaw.”

Shaw glances up from her inspection of the exterior, her hands roaming over the sleek curved silver of the front quarter panel. “Keys,” she says, a hand reaching out toward Root. Her eyes remain locked on the car, and if Root didn’t enjoy watching her lust after it so much she’d probably be insulted. She looks _hot_ today, dammit. 

Root pointedly adjusts the ( _very_ short, _very_ tight) hem of her dress before fishing around in her purse to drop the keys into Shaw’s hand. Barely a second passes before Shaw has wrenched the door open and slid into the driver’s seat, turning over the engine just to hear it purr. Her fingers dance over the steering wheel as she presses herself back, revving the engine a few times as Root looks on with fond amusement. She’d probably earn a punch to the arm if she told Shaw there’s only one word to describe her at this moment; but really, how could Root find this anything _but_ cute?

She clears her throat and steps closer to the still-open driver’s side door. “It made a noise on my way over here.”

“What kind of noise?” The lot falls silent when Shaw shuts off the car and removes the key, giving the wheel a pat of satisfaction.

“No idea.” Root cocks her head and grins. “Guess you’ll have to take apart the entire engine block.”

Shaw throws a glare at her, but there’s no hiding the anticipatory gleam in her eyes as she reaches down to pull the release and circles around to the back of the car. Root follows and perches on the hood of the 1963 Corvette that Shaw had warned her not to scratch last week, leaning back on her hands to watch Shaw take in the power behind the sportscar. It’s no overclocked eight-core i7-5960x, sure, but she gets it. Speed is speed, and they’re both nothing if not thrillseekers. 

And Root does very much enjoy getting to see this side of Shaw.

“This thing is packing over five hundred horsepower.” Shaw’s voice is already laced with sex, and Root’s fairly certain she gives her a double take when she turns away to retrieve a bag of tools from against the building. Root preens, an arch of her spine and languid stretch of her calves that draw Shaw’s gaze when she returns. She flips her hair back and Shaw rolls her eyes, pulling a wrench out of the bag and turning her attention back to the engine.

Root is content to watch her work; it is, after all, why she’s here. It’s a nice vacation from the various identities the Machine has her assuming every day, to watch the curve of Shaw’s spine as she leans over to inspect a cylinder. It’s a pleasant distraction from the oncoming AI apocalypse to see the way Shaw’s brow furrows when she encounters a stubborn bolt. It’s insufferably endearing, hearing her mutter under her breath about the jackass owner of the car, wasting something that can travel over two hundred miles per hour in a city with stop lights every three hundred feet.

To say nothing of how intoxicating it is, watching the straining muscles of her arms, exposed as they are by the tight black tank top she’s wearing in the heat of late spring. Following the path of glistening droplets of sweat from her neck, trickling over her skin to disappear in the valley between her breasts. Listening to the grunts she lets out as she pulls on the wrench. Staring at her hands, calloused and nimble and occasionally coming down to wipe a stray streak of grease off on her jeans.

Jeans which are suspiciously more ill-fitting than usual, and Root can’t resist any longer.

“So, Shaw,” she begins, an innocent sing-song lilt in her voice, “did you get that thing I sent you?”

There’s the sound of metal clanking against metal, but otherwise Shaw gives no outward reaction. “Yeah, Root. You went way past subtle with that one.”

“What can I say? I’ve got needs, and…” Root’s eyes travel over Shaw’s form, lingering on her backside, and Shaw glances over at her pause. “Sometimes those needs don’t want to wait for you to wash your hands.”

“I’ve learned all about your needs since I got this job,” Shaw mutters, though Root thinks she can detect a quirk of her lips. “I still think you had a hand in what the Machine picked out for my cover just so you’d have an excuse to be a fucking perv.”

“It’s been an unexpected benefit to Samaritan taking over the planet,” Root agrees cheerfully. “At least you’re not stuck working at a makeup counter.”

There’s an unmistakable look of horror in Shaw’s eyes when she raises her head at that. “Tell me that wasn’t actually on the table.”

“Desperate times, Sameen.” She runs her eyes up and down the length of Shaw’s body. “So, are you wearing it?”

Shaw smirks. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

It’s the closest thing to an invitation as she’s going to get, and Root wastes no time in approaching Shaw and wrapping herself around her body from behind. She presses in close, her lips at Shaw’s neck as her hands roam along her chest and thighs, and Shaw turns her neck enough to encourage Root to nip at the skin. One of her hands makes its way between Shaw’s legs and encounters an unmistakable hard bulge.

“Well,” Root hums in satisfaction, “it seems the cars aren’t the only hot rods around here.”

Shaw groans - at Root’s joke, she’s sure, but probably at least a little from the hand that’s palming her breast. Root presses her hips into Shaw’s ass and grinds her palm against her crotch, moving her lips from her neck to murmur into her ear. “They’re not the only things lubed up and ready to go for a ride, either.”

“Oh, for fuckssake,” Shaw mutters, and Root barely has time to register her words before she finds herself backed against the Corvette, Shaw’s mouth on hers in a kiss borne both out of passion and a desire to shut her up. She loses her balance against Shaw’s insistence, coming to rest atop the hood of the car, and Shaw quickly moves in between her legs. Her hands come to Root’s hips, pulling her closer, making Root moan against her lips at the press of the strap-on.

Root lifts herself a little when Shaw’s hands find their way under Root’s dress, helping her drag her underwear down and away, and Root kicks her heels off and wraps her legs around Shaw’s. Her head falls back as Shaw buries her face in her neck, her teeth dragging along her throat and delivering the occasional deep bite even as her hips continue to thrust against Root.

“Shaw…” Root swallows, her hands making their way to Shaw’s waistband. Shaw slaps them away and sinks to her knees, pulling Root forward on the hood of the car and spreading her legs apart. Her eyes gleam with smug satisfaction as she stares Root down and pushes her dress up. One of her hands wraps around Root’s back, the other snakes up her thigh, and Root’s own hands press against the warm metal of the car to hold herself up against the first touch of Shaw’s tongue.

This wasn’t exactly what she had in mind when she drove here, but, she thinks as Shaw moans and presses her mouth harder against her, she’s not going to complain.

Lips wrap around her clit for a moment before Shaw pulls her closer and buries her tongue inside her. She did always have a particular enthusiasm for this, countless of their missions of late ending in Root being pushed against a wall and brought to her knees by Shaw’s mouth. Though in fairness, that may have something more to do with Shaw’s refusal to take her when her hands are covered in blood and gunpowder, and Root never can suppress the flutter of affection that rushes through her at Shaw’s unspoken care.

Those thoughts are far from her mind at the moment though, Shaw making it difficult to focus on anything other than the strokes of her tongue along her wetness, the sucking of her lips at her clit, the biting of her teeth on her flesh. The tip of Shaw’s tongue flicks rapid patterns over her clit and Root cries out with the sparks that arc amongst her nerves. Shaw’s eyes crinkle in amusement even as she opens her mouth to devour her more fully and lets out another sound of pleasure at the taste.

Root feels herself being drawn entirely too close to her peak, the fluttering of her muscles against nothing but the brief flick of Shaw’s tongue making her remember her purpose. Her hands come to Shaw’s shoulders and drag her to her feet - only because Shaw allows it, she knows, given how utterly limp she is from the rush of pleasure.

“Come on, Sameen.” Root’s fingers fumble desperately at the button of Shaw’s jeans. “I didn’t get this for you so you could tease me with your tongue.”

Shaw’s breath is hot on her neck as she leans in and sucks at her skin, her self-satisfied grin evident even through Root’s debauched haze. “Had to make sure you were ready, didn’t I?”

“Shaw,” Root whines, and Shaw presses a bruising kiss to her lips. She can feel Shaw’s hands come between them to work at her jeans, and she moans appreciatively when she hears the zipper being drawn down and feels Shaw push her clothing past her hips. Root’s hands dig into the now-exposed flesh of Shaw’s ass to pull her close, but Shaw braces herself against the car and breaks away from the kiss just enough to murmur against her lips.

“What’s the magic word, Root?” 

“Fuck me,” Root breathes, and Shaw groans against her neck.

“Close enough.” 

Root’s head falls back and she lets out a silent moan as Shaw pushes inside her, the strap-on slipping in easily with one smooth stroke. Shaw grunts and steps closer to the car, one of Root’s hands pulling her close at the small of her back while she supports herself with the other splayed out behind her, her legs wrapped around Shaw’s thighs. Her hips quickly find a slow, steady rhythm with Shaw’s, the toy filling her with a delicious pressure that only multiplies with each stroke that draws the ridged head of the strap-on back inside her.

Shaw leans forward to press her lips to Root’s throat, and as her tongue runs along its striations Root closes her eyes and lets herself drown in the overwhelming presence of Shaw. They’re both still nearly fully clothed, but with the movements inside her and the heat pressed up against her, Shaw’s breath on her skin, her hands digging into her hips, she feels surrounded and it is utterly intoxicating. She draws her head forward and captures Shaw’s lips, humming at the touch of her tongue on her own.

Root’s hips shudder with the effort of restraining her need to pick up the pace of the thrusts inside her, but Shaw seems to share her desire and her steady strokes turn into a rapid rhythm without warning, causing Root to cry out and nearly lose her balance. Her hands come up to clutch at Shaw’s shoulders and she knows she’s going to leave finger-shaped marks behind, but she also knows neither of them care in the least. She tries to resume their kiss but it’s too difficult to breathe and they end up merely gasping at each other, punctuated with the occasional bite of a lip.

The fingers at her hips tighten their grip as Shaw shifts the angle of her thrusts, and Root lets out a pathetically wanton whimper that seems to serve only to increase Shaw’s ardor. Her hips move in a furious rhythm, the wet sounds of the strap-on moving inside her and Shaw’s flesh slapping against her thighs coalescing into something truly obscene and Root’s own hips jerk as she feels the beginnings of her climax take hold.

“Sameen…” She takes a shuddered breath and Shaw says nothing, instead pulling at Root’s hair and dragging her teeth along the muscle of her neck. Root’s body spasms and her limbs tighten their hold on Shaw as she comes, her lungs frozen and muscles coiled tight and Shaw grunting in her ear all the while never ceasing her thrusts.

As Root finally lets out her breath, the pulses of her orgasm still racing through her, Shaw pushes her down to lie against the hood of the car and covers her body with her own, the pace of her hips growing increasingly erratic. Root wraps her legs around her waist and claws at her back under her tank top, breathlessly encouraging her to take what she needs and Shaw bites at the cleavage exposed by the cut of Root’s dress until Root feels her shudder and gnash ineffectually at her skin as her own orgasm overpowers her.

Shaw lies on top of her long after Root’s limbs fall away in boneless contentment, Shaw’s hips continuing to idly thrust against her. A lazy smile plays about Root’s lips, still feeling the occasional flutter of her muscles clenching against the strap-on that remains inside her. When at last Shaw pulls away, it draws a gasp from Root at the renewed sensation and she can hear Shaw’s smugness as she straightens her back.

“Do you like your present, Shaw?” Root sits up and watches as Shaw tucks the dildo away.

“I might keep it,” Shaw says, adjusting the harness as she works the zipper of her jeans over the bulge. Her fingers falter at the button as she eyes Root speculatively. “So do we have a number or what?”

“Not today.” The gleam in Shaw’s eyes promises something Root very much wants to receive, and she scoots closer to the edge of the car. “This was purely a social visit.”

Shaw’s fingers abandon the closure of her jeans and trail over Root’s bare thighs. “So neither of us have any pressing engagements, then.”

“Seems that way,” Root confirms, hissing when Shaw’s nails dig into her flesh. She spots a thin trail of red on Shaw’s left shoulder and brings up a thumb to wipe away the blood she’d drawn earlier. “Was that a Thunderbird I saw in the back of the lot?”

“A fifty-nine. Just brought in today.” Shaw’s eyes flash when Root licks the blood away from her thumb, and Root hums at her words.

“Open air, bench seating… could be fun.”

There’s a moment of silence as Shaw stares at Root, her nails gone still on her skin, until abruptly Root feels herself being dragged to her feet with a hand at her wrist, Shaw leading her away.

“You had me at ‘sex in a Thunderbird.’”


End file.
